


Behind Closed Doors

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bored Sherlock, Dirty Talk, Discussion of Exhibitionism, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, bottomlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock is bored and wants John to entertain him. And byentertain, he meansfuck. However, he has forgotten to lock the door, and that leads to a realisation that he may have more kinks than he previously thought.





	Behind Closed Doors

"John."

There was no answer, and Sherlock threw his head back and slid lower in his chair, frustrated.

"John," he repeated, kicking John's chair with his bare foot for emphasis.

John kept ignoring him, focused on his book, though Sherlock could see his jaw clenching.

"John." This time, Sherlock kicked John's shin – not hard, just enough to be noticed, and John lifted his head to glare at him. "There's nothing to _do_ , John," Sherlock continued the moment he got John's attention. "I need a murder. A robbery. A kidnapping, possibly. _Something_."

"You can get through a few days without a murder, Sherlock," John said and went back to his book.

Sherlock kicked his chair again.

"John."

"Do shut up," John told him, his tone conversational.

"John." He gave the chair yet another kick. "I'm bored. The entire world is boring. Pay attention to me."

"If the entire world is boring," John said, his eyes focused on his book, "then I am boring, and can't help you with your boredom."

"Joh- _ohn_ ," Sherlock whined. He aimed his next kick on John's other shin. "Do something."

"I am doing something," John said. "I'm reading. Now be a good boy and shut up."

"But I'm _bored_ , John. This is horrible. No one's dead and Gavin is not calling, and I can't stand people and you really should _help_ me."

John shifted his grip on his book and turned a page. "You're a grown man, Sherlock. You can amuse yourself for a few hours, I'm sure."

"Everything is boring. _John_. Stop being boring and entertain me." This time, the kick he aimed at John's shin was a little harder.

John lowered the book. "Stop that, Sherlock, and shut up."

"No," Sherlock said, and kicked John's shin again. "I'm so _bored_ , John, I can't stand this."

For a moment, John glared at him. "For fuck's sake, Sherlock." With a sigh, he closed his book and reached out to lay it on the table by his chair. "Fine. Get up."

Sherlock did, and then froze, surprised that he'd followed the order immediately. Well, there was nothing to it now, so he crossed his arms and did his best to look bored.

John didn't exactly seem as if he was buying it. He leaned back in his chair and regarded Sherlock for a long while, long enough that Sherlock found it difficult not to squirm. With monumental effort, he managed to stay still.

"Clothes off," John said, finally.

Sherlock arranged his face in a way he hoped portrayed shock, eyes wide and lips parted, but John only rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't play games with me, Sherlock Holmes. We both know what this is about, so get your kit off and behave, and you'll get the fucking you want instead of a spanking."

Sherlock wasn't sure what his face did at that, but whatever it was, it made John's eyes widen.

"Oh? We're into that sort of thing too, then?"

"I … er…"

"Oh shut up and get your clothes off, and if you're quick about it, maybe I'll take pity on you and give you a few nice swats on your bum before shagging you blind."

Sherlock decided it was in his best interest to be quick about it. His dressing gown and pyjamas ended up in a pile on the floor in seconds, and when he was done, he crossed his arms on his chest again and gave John a challenging look. He wondered if his half-hard cock made it look more or less impressive.

Unfortunately, John didn't look impressed at all, only raised an eyebrow. "No underwear again?" he asked.

Sherlock refused to be flustered. "As you said, we both know what this is about. Why would I have bothered with underwear?"

John rolled his eyes again, but the corner of his mouth was quirking up. "All right," he said, and got to his feet.

Before Sherlock had time to react, John grabbed him by the arm, whirled him around and shoved him towards the sofa. He almost stumbled over the coffee table, but John caught him again and dragged him around it.

He ended up on his hands and knees on the sofa, breathing hard. John knelt behind him, right hand on his hip, the other on the back of his bare neck, holding him down. Being naked and forced into such a blatantly submissive position while John was still fully clothed sent flush creeping up his neck and to his cheeks.

"Down", John told him, and the left hand gave a slight push before leaving his skin.

Sherlock dropped to his elbows, the position even more vulnerable and submissive now, and before he had time to prepare himself, John's hand landed on his arse with a sharp smack. He jerked and moaned, back arching, and that got him another stinging slap, and then two more in quick succession. Sherlock buried his face in his forearms, his cheeks heating further along with his arse. John chuckled.

"You really do like this. Who would have thought?"

Sherlock didn't answer, and John gave him two more rough slaps, one on each cheek. He could imagine his skin pinkening, maybe showing marks in the shape of John's hand. His cock had gone from half-hard to all the way, and was already throbbing, slick at the tip with precome.

The next slap landed where his buttock met the thigh, and Sherlock cried out. John delivered another slap on the same place on the other side before stroking his heated skin, the gentle touch only serving to emphasise the pain. Sherlock shivered, torn between begging for more slaps and begging for John's cock, but the desire to be thoroughly buggered won out.

"Fuck me," Sherlock choked out against his forearms. He thought of John spanking him while fucking him, and his cock jerked. "Lube. On – on the table."

Snorting, John reached for the bottle Sherlock had placed there. "You really were prepared, weren't you?" Sherlock could hear him slicking his fingers.

"Obvi- _aah_!" Sherlock threw his head back as the word was cut off by John's fingers, two of them, pushing straight into him. He tried to jerk away from the sudden intrusion, but John's hand on his hip tightened, stilling him as the fingers inside him pushed deeper.

"Don't move," John ordered, swatting his arse again. Sherlock clenched around his fingers. "Did you honestly think I'd coddle you now? I have a bruise on my shin where you kicked me, I swear."

"No, John," Sherlock said, hanging his head.

John hummed, apparently satisfied, and twisted his fingers, spreading them apart before starting to thrust, deep and hard. The tips of his fingers found Sherlock's prostate with each thrust, and Sherlock threw his head back, panting. His gaze landed on the door, and the realisation hit him.

"John…"

John's fingers kept working Sherlock's arse without any sign of stopping. "Hmm?"

"The – the door. It's not locked."

"So?" John didn't sound particularly concerned, and Sherlock shuddered.

"What if … what if someone comes in?"

There was a short pause. "Well then they'll get an eyeful. You were supposed to be prepared, it's not my fault you overlooked the door."

"Oh god." Sherlock was sure he could feel blood draining from his cheeks, but his cock wasn't similarly affected, bobbing hard and heavy between his legs. John didn't miss that.

"Do you think they'll enjoy it, Sherlock? Seeing your face when you have your arse full of cock, all flushed and that pretty mouth hanging open?"

"John…"

"I think they will. They'll hear you in the stairs, you're so loud, but that won't be enough, oh no, they'll want to see how you look with your greedy little hole stuffed."

A garbled cry escaped Sherlock, and he buried his face in the sofa cushions.

John yanked his head up by the hair. "No. Don't hide. If someone comes in, I want them to see your face."

Sherlock whimpered. John ignored him and added a third finger, pushing them all deep and the spreading them wide, and the whimper turned into a sharp cry.

"You open up so easily for me." John twisted his hand, pressed his fingertips on Sherlock's prostate again, and then suddenly the fingers were slipping out.

" _John_!" Sherlock whined.

"Shush." John smacked his arse. "You do want my cock."

"Oh god. _Y_ _es_."

He listened to the sounds of John undoing his flies and slicking himself up, and then the thick, hot head of John's cock was brushing against his loosened arsehole. He thrust back and got another harsh slap on his arse for his trouble.

"Stay still. You'll get my cock when _I_ want you to get it."

Sherlock whined, quivering with need, but didn't try to push back anymore. John made a satisfied sound, rubbing the slick tip of his cock up and down Sherlock's crack, spreading lube and precome around.

After what felt like eternity, John pushed in, slow and measured, and by the time he was balls deep, Sherlock was whimpering steadily, sweat beading on his skin.

"John, please," he begged.

John huffed. "Have you ever considered begging when there _isn't_ a dick up your arse?" He gave Sherlock a shallow thrust. "Like, instead of whinging and _kicking me_ , you could have said, 'Please, John, fuck me 'till I scream'."

"Where–" His voice broke as John gave him another shallow thrust, "where's the fun in that?"

John snorted. "You arse." His next thrust was harder, deeper, and Sherlock moaned.

John slapped his arse again, and again, the movement of his hips picking up pace until his was ramming into Sherlock, fingers digging into his hipbones, and Sherlock was crying out with every thrust, his hands scrambling for purchase on the slick surface of the sofa.

"This is how I want them to see you," John said as he kept thrusting, deep and hard. "Helpless and needy, your little hole stretched wide around my cock. I want the entire bloody world to know that you get off on being fucked in the arse, and _I'm the one who gets to do it_."

"Only you," Sherlock managed. "Only ever – oh god fuck _yes_ , John, _yes_!"

John hummed, fingers digging into Sherlock's hips, the slap of his pelvis against Sherlock's abused arse cheeks sending brilliant flashes of pain through Sherlock's body and into his aching bollocks. He drove back against John, still wanting more, and one of John's hands left his hip and landed on his buttock with yet another sharp smack. Sherlock cried out as more heat spread from the point of contact.

"The neighbours are going to hear that," John panted. "Maybe they'll complain to Mrs Hudson and she'll let them in. They'll come in and see you, this gorgeous arse glowing red." He slapped Sherlock again, as if to emphasise his point. "Maybe they'll want a piece."

"Oh god."

John bent over him, breathing hard against the back of his neck. "I won't let them touch you though. You're mine, your arse is mine, and no one else can have it." His fingers clenched on Sherlock's hips. "But they can watch, and they can imagine how it feels to sink into the heat of you, how fucking sweet and tight you are. They can listen to you scream as I fuck you into the best bloody orgasm you've ever had."

A low whine was all Sherlock could manage in response. He tried to bury his face into his arms, but John caught him by the hair again and forced his head back. The pleasure-pain of having his hair pulled had Sherlock almost sobbing, his entire body burning with need.

"What did I tell you?" John snarled. "Don't hide." His other hand made its way between Sherlock's legs and wrapped around his cock. "I wouldn't want anyone to miss your face when you come. Are you going to come, Sherlock?"

He could hardly breathe anymore, he was so close, his arse stretched tight around John's cock, his own cock ready to burst. "Yuh-yes, oh god _yes please_."

"What if the door opens _right now_?" John twisted his hand, his fingers rubbing over the slick tip of Sherlock's cock as each of his brutal thrusts found Sherlock's prostate. The hand in Sherlock's hair kept his head up, his face turned towards the door. "Admit it, Sherlock, you want it. You want someone to come in and see your face, twisted in pleasure as I fuck you. You want someone to see you coming with a dick up your arse, you want someone to know what an insatiable little slut you are."

Sherlock's only answer was a choked-off cry as he spilled himself all over John's fingers and the sofa cushions, arse clenching around John's cock. His vision whited out for a moment, and if someone had opened the door then, he wouldn't have noticed.

John fucked him through it, ramming into him hard and deep, each brush of his cock over Sherlock's prostate milking another spurt of come out of him until there was nothing left and Sherlock was shaking and twitching, undignified mewling sounds escaping his mouth.

"John," he gasped.

That was what seemed to do it for John; he groaned low in his throat as he pulsed inside Sherlock, thrusting in deep, filling him with come.

"John," Sherlock repeated as John stilled, his voice shaky and grateful.

John sighed, his breath cooling the sweat on Sherlock's back, and pulled out slowly. Sherlock could feel a trickle of come and lube spilling out of his hole, dripping down his thighs, and then his legs gave out and he slumped face down on the sofa, heedless to the wet spot under him. His hole felt stretched and open and the skin of his arse was still heated from John's slaps, and he could have fallen asleep right there.

John collapsed to sit on the sofa behind Sherlock. "That was." His voice sounded almost as wrecked as Sherlock felt. Humming in agreement, Sherlock wriggled to his side to look at him. John's hair was sweaty, a few short strands sticking to his forehead, his clothes rumbled and his cheeks still a little pink from the exertion. He looked lovely.

"God, you're a mess," John sighed, smiling. "Not bored anymore, though, I hope?"

Sherlock only shrugged in response. John gave him a fond headshake as he reached out for a box of tissues Sherlock had left on the coffee table and used a handful to wipe most of the come from Sherlock's belly. Sherlock didn't bother helping, other than shifting away from the small pool of come on the sofa so John could wipe it clean too.

When the worst of the mess was gone, John stumbled to his feet, one had dragging up his trousers and pants.

"Come on." He fastened his trousers and extended his hand, and with a sigh, Sherlock took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his unsteady feet and into a gentle kiss. He hummed against John's lips, and when their mouths parted, buried his nose in the crook of John's neck. John smelled of sex and clean sweat, and Sherlock smiled.

"Bedroom," John said, squeezing him close for a moment before nudging him towards the kitchen doorway.

Leaning against each other they stumbled across the flat and into the bedroom. The moment John let go of him, Sherlock collapsed onto the bed, face down on top of the covers. John stopped beside him, eyes raking over his body, and Sherlock spread his legs and arched his back, laughing when John's pupils dilated. He fully expected John to pounce him – second round sounded like a brilliant idea – but instead, John started to turn away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock snapped. If second round was out of question, he at least deserved a cuddle after a fucking like that.

"Just getting a flannel," John said. "You're _still_ a mess." He gestured towards Sherlock's behind, where, Sherlock was very aware, John's come was leaking out.

"Well who's fault may that be?" he mumbled and buried his face into the covers.

John laughed, soft and warm, and turned back enough to pat Sherlock's sore arse before heading towards the bathroom. At the door, he paused. "Oh, and Sherlock?"

Sherlock lifted his head a fraction. "Yes?"

"Mrs Hudson's not home and the front door is locked, so no one could've walked in on us."

Sherlock threw a pillow at him.


End file.
